


If Only I Were There

by wildeisms



Series: If and When [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Companion Piece, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildeisms/pseuds/wildeisms
Summary: A collection of scenes to be read alongside the letter collection, If Only You Were Here.





	1. Jacob: The First Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was originally suggested as an interlude, but I just couldn't make that work right. So I've played around a little bit, and instead I'm going to be writing out particular moments from the series of letters in short snippets of prose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter takes place at the same point as Chapter 2 of IOYWH, with Jacob receiving Newt's first letter.
> 
> I'm not sure if this will make sense without reading that fic first so I highly recommend you go and do that if you haven't already.

“Hey Kowalski, I thought you didn’t have a broad back home?”

“Huh?” Jacob looked up from the rifle he had been cleaning to see the tall, olive skinned Private Russo holding out a letter to him.

“You got a letter already. Most of the fellas who get letters in the first couple weeks are hearing from their sweethearts, so out with it. You got a girl hidden away?”

A thrill of excitement ran up Jacob’s spine, but he did his best not to show it as he took the offered letter. That was undoubtedly Newt’s handwriting and it took every bit of his willpower not to react with the enthusiasm that he felt, and instead to school his voice and expression into casual indifference. “Nah, that’ll just be a buddy of mine. He’s always got news, so I bet something will’ve happened already.”

Russo raised a thick, dark eyebrow. “How come he ain’t out here? Or is he on some other job?”

“He’s not fit for duty,” Jacob replied, and almost surprised himself with the speed at which he had come up with the lie. “Sickly kinda guy, y’know?”

“Ah, right. Well, I gotta get going. I still got the rest of these to hand out.”

“Alright, catch you later.”

As soon as the man was gone, Jacob was ripping open the letter with unabashed glee. He was lucky, getting it delivered when he was the only one in the room. Trying to hide how happy he was to hear from Newt for too long would have been totally impossible. And if he’d tried to take the letter into the bathroom for a little privacy, that would have definitely given everyone the wrong idea. Or what was actually partially the right idea, but not in this particular context. Newt was definitely not the type of guy to write dirty letters, at least not without a whole lot of prompting first. But fortunately, Peralta and Barnes were out who knows where, and Mitchell was still getting patched up from the incident earlier that day. Jacob had told him to be careful, but he’d been so intent on showing off that he’d almost been caught, in full view of the enemy, without so much as a helmet on. Jacob had pulled him back, but he’d had a nasty fall and caught his head on a crate of supplies, and done some kind of damage to his ankle in the process. He was ridiculous, but he seemed to have taken something of a liking to Jacob. He didn’t mind, although he had a feeling that it might be something other than the fraternal bond he felt with the younger man. Perhaps he was imagining it, but it did seem that Mitchell was particularly keen to impress him in much the same way as Newt often was. But that didn’t matter now. He was a nice kid, sure, but Jacob only had eyes for one person nowadays, and that one person had just sent him a letter.

Grinning the entire time, Jacob read and reread the letter until he would probably be able to recite it word for word if he were asked to. Newt was such a darling, he could still hardly believe he had got quite so lucky. He could picture him sat in the messy little hut he called his home, sat at his desk with Pickett climbing all over him, and probably a few other little creatures sat at his feet and on his desk, waiting patiently for Newt to finish writing and bring them dinner. Or not so patiently, depending on which beasts they were. 

He missed them all, even the erumpent that had nearly killed him and the nundu that seemed to terrify everyone but Newt - and to some extent Jacob himself, although he wasn’t ever going to be quite as cuddly with a beast that could kill him in about a thousand ways as Newt was. They were like a family, and he hated being apart from them. Part of him - the selfish part - wanted to go back home, walk straight out of here and back to Newt’s case, but he couldn’t. He would just have to hold on, treasuring Newt’s letters as the closest thing he could get to home until they were all allowed to leave and return to the lives they’d had before all this.

It was an unspoken rule that a man’s mail was his own private business. But then again, being cooped up in tight quarters with a bunch of other men had never exactly been the breeding grounds for privacy of any kind. All the same, Jacob wanted to keep his letters very much for his eyes only. And not just out of a sense of propriety, but because his ridiculous lover had already started writing about magic and muggles and Defense Against The Dark Arts, and the last thing Jacob needed was anyone asking too many questions. Not to mention, he doubted whether the majority of men would take kindly to finding out that the ‘buddy’ Jacob was writing to was actually far more. No, it was best to keep his letters hidden, and pray that nobody else ever read them. After all the work Newt had gone to avoiding the exposure of wizardkind to the rest of the world, it would be a real mess if he, Jacob, went and exposed them by being careless with his mail. But that didn’t stop him from picking up Newt’s letter and reading it whenever he had a moment to himself rather than keeping it safely hidden away, his eyes and mind always drawn to the love at the bottom, even once he had sent his reply. And despite everything, a part of him wished he could share that private mail, to tell everyone in the world how he loved Newt Scamander and, miraculously, Newt Scamander loved him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also planning on doing Newt's reaction to Jacob's first letter, but I'm not sure when exactly I'll have that up. Could be tomorrow, could be a month from now. Who even knows? Not me.


	2. Newt: The First Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place around Chapter 3 of IOYWH.

When Newt saw the letter lying on the doormat, he couldn’t help bouncing on the balls of his feet with sheer joy. 

Ever since he had first sent his letter off with the muggle post service, he had been wondering just how long it would take for a reply to reach him. He wasn’t sure he trusted those people, but he has never trusted people as much as he trusted his creatures. His owl, Icarus, had been most displeased with this particular arrangement, as he had always been a fan of Jacob. Just to appease him, Newt had ended up writing to Theseus too in order to give him something to do. Which was the only reason he wrote to his brother, and the fact that he was worried about Jacob had nothing to do with it. Worrying was pointless and he knew it, but it was hard not to think about all that could go wrong. 

Theseus had been his usual, straightforward self in his letter. He had told Newt in no uncertain terms that he couldn’t and shouldn’t stop Jacob from doing what he wanted or felt he needed to do, and he had to trust Jacob to look after himself. Worrying wouldn’t do anyone any good, and unless he had something practical to offer or concrete evidence that Jacob was in exceptional danger, Theseus advised following the lesson he had taught his younger brother when they were boarding the Hogwarts express together for the first time - Newt entering first year and Theseus in third - ‘worrying means you suffer twice’. It was a mantra that had served Newt well over the years and one which both brothers tried to live by, but there were times when it became rather difficult to follow. As a distraction, Theseus had also told Newt that he would try to take a holiday to New York when he was next able to visit Newt, and that if Newt ever wanted to come back to London, his old bedroom was still his. It helped a lot and Theseus was, of course, right on all counts, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking that he'd truly be able to feel better when he heard from Jacob.

But here was a letter from him, reaching him only a few days after the reply from Theseus reached him. Perhaps muggle post wasn’t too awful. He grabbed the letter and made a beeline for his suitcase. While he did like Jacob’s flat, it felt better to read such a letter in the comfort of his own space, surrounded by the creatures who had become his family.

As he read the carefully printed words in Jacob’s neat hand, he couldn't stop the happiness bubbling over inside him and he bounced up and down in his seat, beaming broadly. Jacob was so sweet and he could scarcely believe how much he really was in love. 

Pickett emerged from his jacket pocket and chattered at him excitedly, and it was almost as if he already knew what it was that Newt was reading.

“Oh, Pickett, look! It’s a letter from Jacob and- Yes, he’s sent his love to you too, look! That’s your name right there.” He indicated the point in the letter, and Pickett seemed satisfied. “He sends love to everyone, but he did mention you specifically.”

Pickett chattered again and gave him an imploring look. “Oh, Pickett, I don’t know when he’ll be back. I do hope it’s soon, but until then, we’ll just have to send our love in letters. Now come on, let’s go and get everyone breakfast.”

Newt folded the letter up carefully and stowed it away in his breast pocket. True, he likely should have left it in his cabin, but he didn't particularly want to let go of it yet. But if anyone asked, he would definitely deny all accusations of reading it aloud to his creatures. That would simply be too much. 

When he reached the pile of silver and gold that the niffler had claimed as his habitat, he couldn’t help but notice a particularly familiar piece of silver metal that he recognised instantly as Jacob’s pocket watch, and was overcome with the urge to pilfer it and hide it in his pocket, much like the niffler has inevitably done. And it wasn’t as if Newt didn’t provide plenty of interesting treasure and scavenger hunts for Walter to hunt out himself. He might not even miss a single pocket watch in among all the rest of his hoard. Really, there was no good reason not to take it.

So that was exactly what he did. While Walter was eating, Newt slipped the watch off of the pile and into his pocket, and ignored the judgemental look Pickett was giving him. “Oh, hush,” he hissed, but he couldn’t make himself look serious. The situation was too silly, he knew it was ridiculous to be stealing from a niffler, and even more ridiculous to be such a lovesick fool. But Jacob had so often called him ridiculous and a part of him wanted to simply accept being ridiculous. So long as no one other than Jacob found out, being ridiculous wasn't so bad. The magic of pure emotion remained a largely understudied topic, but perhaps just by carrying something of Jacob’s, he could somehow send the feelings of love and care to him despite the distance, despite the fact Jacob was a muggle, and despite the fact Newt didn’t even know if it was possible under any circumstances. Even if it did nothing more, it was a comfort and a reminder of the man he loved. The man who should be here, but was instead so very far away.

He felt a tug on his trouser leg as he moved on towards the mooncalf habitat and looked down to see Dougal’s wide eyes staring up at him. He scooped the demiguise up in his arms and simply held him there for a moment, lost in contemplation. These creatures were not only his family anymore, they were Jacob’s too, and they could surely feel the changed atmosphere just as much as Newt could, if not more so. “Don’t worry, Dougal. Mummy promises Daddy will come back soon, okay?” he murmured, although he had the slightest suspicion that the demiguise was not here as the one needing comfort. 

People often assumed that Newt’s relationship with his creatures was a solely one-sided affair, but nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, he devoted himself to their comfort and care, but each and every one returned his love, in their own way. They were family, and they would look out for each other as best they could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just in: Local author can't use the word 'family' more than once in a chapter without quoting Lilo and Stitch to himself every time he writes the word. 
> 
> ~ Ohana means family, and family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten ~


	3. Jacob: The Grenade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place between chapters 5 and 6 in IOYWH
> 
> TW: minor character death, injuries, trauma

Jacob’s ears were ringing. There was something wet and sticky on his left sleeve, and he looked down to see a red stain blooming over the torn fabric of his uniform. He was bleeding, but somehow it didn’t hurt that much. He just felt cold. He staggered to his feet and barely had time to notice that he was dizzy before he saw it. What must have been the centre of the blast, just off to his left, and the body lying limp on the floor. 

He tried to run towards it, but his feet weren’t working right anymore. He collapsed at the man’s side and felt frantically for a heartbeat, any indication that he might be alive. “Come on,” he whispered, his voice strangely hoarse. “Hey, Marshall, buddy… Come on, stay with me.”

But there was nothing but the bloody gash across his head, the lacerations from debris all over his body, and the strange angle of his neck that told Jacob there was no hope. His pale skin was a canvas of black and blue and red.

He no longer looked like the nineteen year old boy with bright eyes and sandy hair that Jacob had known. His face would never again light up with a crooked grin or crease with laughter. He would never again glow with pride at earning Jacob’s approval or drift into quiet contemplation. This body beside him had once been a young man, but it wasn’t now. It was a shell, empty and broken and destroyed by people who would never know or care about the man he had once been. 

Jacob didn’t know when he’d started to cry, or when he had been hoisted to his feet and carried off to the infirmary. Everything was a blur of movement and unintelligible sound masked by the ringing in his ears and the buzzing of his brain.

Marshall was - had been - a Queens kid, and he’d always wanted to become a journalist. He’d never get to do that now. He was so young, barely out of school, and he hadn’t even had a chance to live a proper life. By all rights, it should have been him who had lived and Jacob who had died. Jacob had got his dream job, met the love of his life, done all those things that every good man deserved to do in his life. But that would have broken Newt’s heart. The thought of Newt, alone in his workshop and knowing Jacob would never come home was too much to bear. But did he truly deserve to live more than Marshall had? Was it cruel or selfish to be pleased it hadn’t been him?

Someone was talking to him, but Jacob was too lost in his mind to answer. He just stared straight ahead, his eyes damp with tears and completely unseeing.

It had all happened so fast. One moment they were chatting as they worked, and the next Jacob caught sight of the grenade falling, yelled out and threw himself down and out of the way. If he had yelled louder, moved faster, could Marshall have stood a chance?

He would never know, and a part of him never wanted to. But no matter what he wanted, he would never be able to stop the events of that day replaying inside his mind. 


	4. Newt: The Sickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter spreads over chapters 7-10 in IOYWH

It was just a week after Newt had returned to America when he noticed it. Amelie was curled up in the corner while her siblings munched noisily on their dinner of dead rats, and didn’t seem the slightest bit interested.

On a normal day, she would be chirping excitedly and most definitely holding her own in the scramble for food. But today, she seemed downright miserable. “What is it, sweetheart?” Newt cooed softly, reaching out to stroke the top of her head. “Aren’t we hungry?”

He grabbed another rat from his bucket and placed it in front of her, careful to position himself between her and her siblings to avoid any pilfering. She just looked at the rat, then dropped her head back down with such obvious disinterest that Newt’s brow furrowed. He scooped up the occamy in his arms and gave her a little scratch under the chin. She didn’t feel too hot or too cold, but there was definitely something amiss. It simply seemed as though she was exhausted, too tired to even move. She would likely be fine, but Newt couldn’t shake the suspicion that she might be feeling down. Perhaps she was missing Jacob even more than he was. His face had, after all, been the first that she had ever seen in this world. That sort of bond could create an incredibly powerful magical connection, one which had never been studied enough to be understood but which was very evident to anyone who had ever worked with magical creatures. Perhaps such a long separation and no substitute paternal figure was taking its toll on her. The other occamies had been raised by Newt alone in their first few days, but Amelie had been very much a shared charge. And while Newt was a more than adequate Mummy to all those creatures who had lost their maternal figure, enough to keep them content and keep that bond existing in some form, Amelie had never before known life with only one parent. Newt could not be both Mummy and Daddy to her, particularly not when Daddy was such an important person to her. 

“I miss him too,” he murmured with a soft, sad sigh. “Every day. But he is coming back, dearest. I promise. He promised.”

Amelie didn’t react, aside from letting out a baleful cheep in response. 

“I know… Why don’t you stay with Mummy tonight, hmm? Mummy loves you, and Daddy does too, even when he’s far away.”

When he curled up in bed that night, Amelie wrapped around his arm, he dreamed of Jacob. His lover was trapped in a cage and so obviously hurting, begging for Newt to come and help him. Newt cried out, but his voice was replaced with the sorrowful chirping of a sick occamy, and his limbs were too heavy to move towards Jacob. He tried and tried to do something, but could only watch as Jacob’s face contorted in the kind of pain that could only come from a cruciatus curse. He couldn’t even draw his wand to help him, and no wandless magic was coming. 

He awoke covered in sweat and tears, with Amelie still on his arm. With a shaky sigh, he ran his fingers through his messy hair and dragged himself out of bed. He didn’t know whether it was because of his nightmare or because she was feeling vulnerable, but the occamy didn’t leave his side the whole day, choosing to stay in near-constant physical contact. She even laid across his neck like a scarf when he went to the bathroom, seemingly unwilling to be in a different room for even a minute. 

When it came to feeding time, Amelie still refused even the best rats offered to her. After almost a full day without her eating a single bite, Newt resorted to mixing up the solution he fed to sick or small occamies who were not up to eating properly, and filled up one of the old baby bottles he used to feed animals of this size. It took a few tries, but eventually, he managed to force half a bottle down her. Not nearly the amount a full-grown occamy would typically be eating, but it would have to do. It was certainly better than nothing. 

They continued in this vein for several days, with Newt trying every trick he knew to coax her into eating or playing or returning to the nest, and Amelie clinging to him with such a fatigue to her that Newt was starting to feel tired himself. And when she started to feel warm, Newt was completely certain that this was an illness, and ceased his attempts to integrate her back into the nest. The last thing he needed was for all of the occamies to fall ill. 

Not for the first time, he wished so incredibly dearly that he was more able to communicate with all his creatures. True, he could understand the gist of some of their vocalisations, but there was simply no way to hold a complex conversation with an occamy. They might be able to indicate hunger or tiredness, but not explain how they were feeling inside and whether they had any other symptoms he had not yet noticed. A demiguise, for instance, might be able to use some rudimentary pointing and sign language, and Newt was practically fluent in bowtruckle, but he could not read any creature’s mind. Which meant, devastatingly, that Amelie was suffering and he wasn’t sure how to fix it. 

Her diet came to consist partly of her specially designed nutrient solution and partly of a vast array of potions and herbal remedies, intended to treat everything from fever to stomach ache, but no matter what combination he tried, nothing seemed to work. If he’d had the energy left over, he might have wanted to throw a tantrum at his own inability to be of any use. But he was simply too tired, trying to keep up with his work and caring for Amelie as well as all the other creatures who needed their standard daily care.

To top it all off, he woke up one day to a piping hot occamy and a freezing cold bedroom. The climate charms on the case must be malfunctioning to cause such a drop in temperature that his pyjamas felt horribly insufficient against such a chill. As he dressed for the day, he added his coat and scarf to his usual ensemble, and hoped that this would be enough to stop his shivering until he had a chance to fix the case up. But he would get through it. No amount of cold could keep him from tending to his creatures and working on his book, even if he did spend the whole of the day shivering. At least having Amelie attached to his arm provided some level of warmth. But when he got to the end of the day and was practically falling asleep into the mooncalf pellets, he simply couldn’t face the prospect of trying to fix such a complicated charm without getting some sleep first. He could always do it tomorrow.

Though he tried, he did not do it tomorrow. Try as he might, he simply couldn’t locate the source of the problem. He did manage some respite in the form of a Pepperup potion, which both he and Amelie were now taking so frequently that they seemed to spend the whole day perpetually smoking, Newt from the ears and Amelie from the nose. She looked like a magnificent dragon. He looked like someone had set fire to his head.

It seemed to be the only thing keeping them both functioning. Newt found himself far less cold and even a little less tired when he was dosed up, and Amelie too seemed to perk up ever so slightly - or at least not get any worse. That was a small victory, and it meant that he had a little longer to find the right combination of treatments to cure her than he might have had otherwise - which was a prospect he didn’t even want to consider. She had to get better. She simply had to. And so, through the fatigue and the cold and the pains in his stomach that surely came from anxiety over this, Newt worked and worked, from the early hours of the morning until late into the night, with Jacob’s letters as encouragement. He believed Newt could do this, and he wanted to see Amelie well again just as much as Newt did. No matter what it took, he would find a way to make that happen.


	5. Tina: The Sickness, Part II

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for Newt to disappear for days at a time, but it had never before been quite so long. After a full week, Tina was getting worried. There were so many dangerous creatures in that case, any one of them could have hurt or even killed him. He could be lying in that case, injured or dying or dead, and they wouldn’t be any the wiser. Even if he was just caught up in his work, as sometimes happened, she had to be sure. Just in case.

As soon as she left work that evening, she headed straight for Jacob and Newt’s apartment and let herself in with the spare key that Jacob had given her when he left. “Newt!” she called, although she didn’t expect him to answer. He spent most of his time in his suitcase, sometimes even when Jacob was there with him. It seemed that the apartment was more a safe place for him to stow his case than his true home. 

As she’d thought, there was no answer. But there was the case, lying shut on the floor in front of the sofa, and she made quick work of opening it up and descending down the stairs and inside. “Newt!” she called again, and this time, when she didn’t get an answer, she started to worry. “Newt!”

“In here,” came a weak reply from his workshop, and Tina pushed open the door to see Newt slumped over his desk with an occamy draped around his neck. “Must have dozed off,” he mumbled. He looked even paler than usual and he was wrapped up in his thick coat and scarf, despite the warmth of the room. Oh Mercy Lewis, was he sick?

“Newt,” Tina murmured, rushing over to his side. “Newt, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he assured her, but his voice was far too faint for her to believe him. “I’m just a little under the weather. Just let me take some Pepperup and I’ll be fine.”

He got to his feet, pulling his coat tighter around himself as if he were in the middle of a snowstorm, not a slightly too warm room. “How long have you been feeling bad?”

“I’m fine. Amelie here is the really poorly one,” he insisted, and Tina had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. No matter how sick he was, of course he’d be more worried about his creatures. “But I suppose it’s been somewhat present for just over a week, and it got to this point about four or five days ago, around when the climate charm started to malfunction.”

Tina frowned at that. “The climate charm feels fine to me. Do you feel too cold or too hot?”

“Right now, too cold. But it does fluctuate sometimes. It must be the charm, I’m sure of it.”

“Or you’re sick.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” Newt insisted, although he didn’t seem quite as certain this time. He may be stubborn, but Tina could be much more so if needs be. 

“You’re not. And if you’ve been taking Pepperup and still not getting better, it’s something serious. Come on, get to bed.”

“Oh, but I have to feed my creatures. It must be almost teatime. And Amelie needs her Pepperup, and I need to work out what else to try her on if I want her to get better anytime soon,” Newt argued, but he looked about ready to collapse any second. It seemed like she had just got there in time. 

“I can feed them tonight, and I’ll bring the pair of you your Pepperup. Now shut up and get to bed,” she insisted, giving him such a fierce look that he seemed to shrink underneath her glare. “Maybe if you let yourself rest, you’ll actually get better.”

“Fine. But I’m keeping Amelie with me. I can’t leave her on her own, not when she’s poorly.”

Tina could say the same about Newt, if she didn’t think that it would make him even more difficult. He may not be in any state to argue, but that had never stopped him before. He could be unable to stand without assistance and still answer back, particularly if his creatures were involved. But this time, he allowed Tina to guide him to his bed, the occamy still draped around his neck.

She tried her best to make all the dinner rounds quickly, but she knew Newt would have been faster, even in the state he was in. But then again, he did this every day. At least he had joined him enough times to know her way around, or else this could have been a complete disaster. 

By the time she had finished feeding all the creatures, prepared two glasses of Pepperup and returned to Newt’s bedroom, he was lying on top of the covers and fast asleep, still dressed in his coat and scarf. The occamy had migrated to his arm, coiling around him like another sleeve.

Really, she should have woken him up, forced him to take his potion. But he looked far too comfortable and he was obviously so exhausted that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. No, better to let him rest and leave the potion by his bed, for him to take when he woke up. 

He would get better. He’d have to. And if he didn’t show any signs of improvement, she’d simply have to find him a good healer. It wasn’t anything to worry about, not really. And yet the anxiety in the pit of her stomach still wasn’t going anywhere.

She couldn’t leave him, not like this. Even though he was safely in bed, she still had a bad feeling, and she’d learnt a long time ago to trust her bad feelings. It was what made her a good auror. So it was settled. She would stay with Newt until she knew that he was well enough to be alone. If only he had a floo-connected fire in this case, she could tell Queenie and ask her what she should do. Queenie had always been a better caretaker. But she would do her best, and if that meant sleeping in his cluttered workshop, so be it.


End file.
